Fire Prince
**
Fake and Andin stood unconcealed on the edge of their abandoned slum watching the city’s lights turn on. The preamble was finally over. Tonight they would attempt the impossible; tonight they would kill a god. They bid goodbye to their hideout as Andin lit the fuses, “Let’s go.”
They descended into the sewers. Fake kept a watchful eye on the branches behind them. They reached the first set of iron bars separating the cities tiers. Andin cut a slice from beneath the waterline; he took a breath and swam under through the filth. “Careful, the cuts are sharp,” he warned before Fake followed.
Fortune gave them easy passage through the first patrolled tier. The iron bars were now doubled. Fake eyed the chronometer attentively as Andin steadily cut through the metal. Andin’s work stopped at the sound of Sadists patrolling the lower level. Fake couldn’t conceal them in the sloped branch. The illusionist pulled his friend underwater when the patrol passed.
The patrol moved on and the work resumed. They slid down the descending branch and into the next tier of the city. The iron bars were now tripled. “Andin, cut faster,” urged Fake. Another patrol stopped their progress. There would be no place to hide if a patrol from the lower and upper tier passed them at the same time.
It was an ugly solution but the fire prince had no other choice. He carved a gap in the stone walls of the sewers circumventing the iron bars. “If anyone looks, it will be obvious what we’ve done,” conceded Andin.
“Clock’s ticking,” said Fake. The usurpers slid down to the next tier. The splash alerted a nearby patrol who came running.
“Fake hide us; don’t let them signal the others,” whispered Andin. They stood on the opposite ledges hidden by Fake’s illusion. The Sadists slowed down eyeing the area suspiciously, their metal claws and razor whips at the ready. Another step and they would collide with the hidden warriors.
In a burst of flame Andin drew his sickles and severed his enemies head. Fake’s sand formed a curved blade and hewed his foe in half. The ambush was as violent as it was fleeting.
“Not bad,” said a smug Andin.
“Back to work; we’re close now,” smirked Fake.
The descent beneath the city continued as Andin carved slip-throughs around the protective bars. The prince did his best to fill in the gap but there was no hiding the sewer walls had been tampered with by an earth user. They had reached the second to last tier without too much trouble.
Peering through the iron bars Andin saw what he had feared, “Divisas, and lots of them.”
Fake looked at the flying creatures with hatred, “Burn them.”
“This tier will see the flames,” answered Andin.
Fake made a malevolent face and answered, “Then we’ll need to empty this tier.” Andin had no problems ending the lives of Sadists; the hunt was on.
Surprise was on their side, none of the patrols this deep down expected anything other than the foul odor of the sewers. The warriors moved uncloaked and at a dead sprint cutting down the unprepared enemy with ease. They knew their job was done when they ran past a patrol they had already slain.
“They’re searching,” said Fake watching the now agitated Divisas.
“They sense pain; clean kills or not they know of our handiwork,” replied Andin.
Andin cut a gap in the stone around the metal bars. He slid down the final branch to the lowest level of the sewers. The Divisas swarmed him as soon as he surfaced, but the prince was ready for them and unleashed a cascade of fire from his hands. The nimble Divisas had nowhere to hide in the crowded sewer.
Andin’s flames inundated the sewer. Fake slid down when smoke and steam cleared. Fake examined the inner wall of the sewer, “So the tower basement should be on the other side of this wall.” Andin climbed from the sewage onto the inner ledge. The fire prince began tunneling through the rock wall.
They checked their chronometers and went to work, “Show starts in an hour and ten,” noted Andin.
Fake smiled, “Get us good seats.” Andin began carving through the metal reinforced rock wall. Fake went to the eastern spillway. In twenty minutes the prince with a burning heart had breached the tower’s basement.
“Fake! We’re in!” he shouted.
Moments later the illusionist came running, “All good on my end.” They crossed the threshold into the tower’s basement. A long shaft led away from the tower’s foundation towards the upper militarized tier. Fake pointed to the shaft and the adjacent metal elevator, “Just as we guessed.”
The skeletal elevator was the same hard black metal as the sewer’s iron bars. Fake’s hand drifted inquisitively over its railing. There were no visible controls; “I wonder how it works?” asked the illusionist stepping aboard. Answering his question the elevator shut and began ascending automatically. Fake instinctively cloaked himself.
Andin jumped and grabbed the bottom of the rising lift, “Fake!” he yelled. The fire prince dropped back into the basement as heavy iron doors snapped shut between the basement and the elevator shaft. Andin cursed. The fire prince paced the floor of the basement weighing his options. He’s already cloaked himself; he knows we have to fight Garruk together, thought Andin.
He knew better than to wait for the uncontrollable elevator to return. The prince began cutting as loudly as he dared through the metal ceiling separating the shaft and the basement. Andin cursed himself for allowing them to get separated, it was sloppy and careless.
The elevator reached the upper tier of the tower appearing empty. Garruk stood opposite the hidden Fake. The illusionist didn’t dare move; a single ripple would reveal him to the god of torment. Garruk sniffed the air and spoke with a smooth voice, “I can smell your blood.” The god sent a wave of crippling pain through Fake’s body.
The illusionist went unconscious and his sand dropped from his body into the elevator shaft. Garruk picked up the limp assassin and brought him to his operating room. A knuckle rub on the sternum brought the illusionist back to reality. “What have the fates brought me tonight I wonder?” asked Garruk.
“Such a gift you’ve given me,” he said hovering over Fake’s face. Fake grimaced at the sight of his tormentor. Garruk’s eyes rolled back as he sniffed Fake’s body closely, “You are no stranger to emotional suffering.” Garruk moved precisely and began washing his instruments.
“Best of all,” he spoke while taking notes about Fake’s dimensions. “You share the blood of the gods; I’m surprised someone so valuable was sent on such a fool’s errand. You have no idea why you’re here do you? You think you’re here to kill me, but you aren’t; I’m an immortal, just like you. You are here to steal; you are no more than a petty thief.”
Fake mustered the courage to address his captor, “You’re a monster; you deserve death.”
Garruk roared in anger, “You know nothing of monstrosity! Look at my city; look at what we have accomplished despite our dark need. Look at the majesty I have created in defiance of my curse! You are the monster! Blindly doing as you’re told like a fool, you are greatest threat to this world not me.”
Garruk reined his anger, “In time, you will see as I see.” With a grease pencil the god marked rectangles on Fake’s exposed skin, “Your arrival was timely; I have not fed in a month.” With surgical precision Garruk traced the rectangle with his scalpel. The cuts were neat and clean.
Garruk held up a wide mouthed set of clamps, “These are skinning pliers, and this is how you use them.” The pliers clamped down on the top flap of the cut skin. Fake understood now what was about to happen. With a steady pull Garruk flayed the skin off of Fake’s body. Blood wept from the growing wound.
Fake howled in agony; there was only pain in his mind. He had no friends, he had no mission, he had no desires other than to make the pain stop. Garruk breathed in ecstasy at the illusionists anguish. “Oh you have known little physical pain, such a sweet morsel you are,” he moaned. Garruk had settled from his high and began dressing Fake’s fresh wound.
G
arruk brought over a microscope to a small patch of Fake’s exposed flesh. “Such a marvel, already your flesh is repairing itself; in a few hours you’ll be good as new,” he said excitedly. Garruk began cutting the next strip of skin. Fake strained against the iron and leather bonds holding him to the operating table.
“Now, now, it should be obvious to you that your cooperation is compulsory,” said Garruk holding Fake’s ribcage steady while he clamped the skinning pliers on the cut flap of skin. Fear of the coming pain filled Fake’s eyes with tears, his mind shut down, he focused only on escaping the torture. Garruk stripped the skin clean off of the illusionist’s ribcage.
Sick euphoria sent a satisfactory shiver through Garruk’s body. The god of torment placed the skin delicately in a pan with its twin. “What is your name boy?” asked Garruk curiously. Fake didn’t answer. “Perhaps you don’t have one,” speculated Garruk. A Divisa flew up to the terrace with a note pierced by one of its needles.
“You killed many of my men in the sewers,” said Garruk casually. “Worse still, you killed some of my darlings,” the needles on the Divisa’s body flattened as Garruk stroked his pet. “I created them myself. Before I changed them they were pathetic scavengers; now look at them, the most feared weapon in my arsenal.”
“I’m a fair man; you tell me your name and I’ll keep our play date just between us two,” bargained Garruk. The Divisa’s needles pricked up hungrily as it approached the illusionist.
“Fake, my name is Fake,” he gasped as the first needle brushed against his cheek.
“Fake? An appropriate name for a man who can conceal himself,” said Garruk cheerily.
The Divisa left the tower. “Pleasure to meet you Fake, my chosen name is Garruk but in the early days many called me F’it Haunber,” said Garruk as if they were at a dinner party. “I’ve never had the pleasure of feeding off an immortal properly, crossing blades in battle isn’t the same I’m afraid. So for that I thank you for attempting such an impossible task, you must be very courageous.”
“I only have one more question for you Fake,” said Garruk as he examined another instrument. Garruk stopped and looked Fake in the eyes, “How did you get here?” Fake didn’t answer, he couldn’t think straight as he watched Garruk pour molten metal into an injector. Garruk didn’t wait for Fake to speak; he calmly placed the injector into Fake’s ear canal, and sent the metal into Fake’s skull. The pain controlled Fake’s body; he shook violently against his restraints.
The fog of the pain finally cleared and Fake answered weakly, “The sewers.”
“I know that; how did you come to Torment?” repeated Garruk.
“We came through your portal,” lied Fake; the illusionist desperately wished to keep Garruk talking.
“Don’t lie to me boy,” said a curt Garruk. In the distance a red-orange glow began to consume the western quarter. Garruk set his instruments down and stood at the window. The prisms Fake had stolen and Andin had filled with fire magic were now releasing their flames in wild streaks throughout the city. Garruk’s treasured city was ablaze.
Andin screamed in fury as he buried his sickles through Garruk’s shoulder cutting towards his spine. Garruk stumbled and turned sending a wave of debilitating pain at both Fake and Andin. Andin recovered, releasing his friend and handing him a stone jar filled with his sand.
Garruk swung his great sword at the boys. The power of vengeful anger fueled their counter attack. The sword missed, but Garruk launched jets of pain magic at his assassins. “Two immortals sent after me, one the son of Bellos no less! Tell me Beldurian do you know why you’ve come here?” mocked Garruk as he dodged their spells.
Garruk stomped hard into the floor sending waves of magic through it. Fake dodged the spell but Andin was brought down writhing in pain. Fake’s sand finally connected with the injured Garruk bringing the god to the floor. Andin fought through the pain and joined his friend over the floored god of torment.
Without hesitation Andin cut Garruk’s arms off, “That should slow you down.”
Garruk laughed, “What do you intend to do with me fire prince? Does your father know you’re here?”
“He’s the one sent me,” said Andin fiercely.
“Oh I doubt that,” mocked Garruk.
“Andin we need to get moving,” said Fake looking at the fires they had unleashed in the city.
“Listen to your friend, fire prince; carry out the plan like a good little soldier,” Garruk still spoke as if he had the upper hand.
Andin knelt over Garruk grabbing his head, “Is there something you want to tell me before I split your head in half?” Garruk grinned and bit into Andin’s neck sending streams of pain magic into the prince’s body.
Andin convulsed before passing out. Garruk laughed hysterically while feeding off of the misery he had caused. Fake had enough and swiftly dismembered the rest of the tormentor. Fake loaded his unconscious friend and their piecemeal quarry into the elevator. It automatically descended.
Fake loaded and untied the service boat he had taken from the eastern spillway. Periodically the illusionist tried to wake up Andin. Fake kept a watchful eye over the overfull sack stuffed with pieces of his recent torturer. The city’s sewage combined formed a small river heading east through the spillway. The water reclamation facility was outside of the city’s excavation in an isolated underground chamber.
Andin awoke when they reached the underground cistern. The fire prince winced in pain, “I’m sorry I couldn’t come up faster.”
Fake looked at Andin, “We’re not done yet.”
Andin sat up and looked at the hacked up Garruk, “What a bloody mess.”
“He ripped the skin off my body as if he were making tea,” said Fake seethingly.
Andin was still woozy but could walk on his own. “The inner shaft of the tower was lined with metal barbs coated with pain magic,” groaned Andin looking at his bloodied hands.
“You didn’t ride a stone up?” asked Fake curiously.
“I thought you were still hidden; I didn’t want to risk the magic tipping off Garruk.”
A slow trickle of blood oozed from Fake’s burnt ear. A thin metal ladder was their salvation to the surface. After a burdensome climb the boys had reached the surface. A wave of painful energy burst from Garruk’s body knocking them both down. They writhed as the magic chewed through them.
Andin shouted furiously kicking the body bag, “I hate him!”
Fake helped him up, “We’ll finish it together.”
Andin gave an agreeing nod, “To the edge of the plane.” The forces of Torment were still in bedlam from the city-wide inferno. The friends were confident they would not be pursued in earnest until they were well away from the enemy.